


Whether by Intent or Accident

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Big Bang Challenge, Bonding, Crying, Emotional, Empathetic bond, Explicit Sexual Content, Flying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Rogue Squadron, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Space Battles, Star Wars Big Bang, Unplanned Pregnancy, set between ANH and ESB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 22:06:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: When Wedge enlists Wes to help him through his heat, they agree not to bond, but a spur of the moment mistake changes both their lives forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to aphorisnt for betaing and various hangholding. I'm really glad this challenge brought us together. ^_^ And don't miss the lovely [art](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/swbb2018/works/14535294) by BishopRiecke!

In the Rebellion, you have to get used to the scent of omega in heat. In the struggling resistance group, supplies are limited, even medical necessities like suppressants. They run out fairly often, and the omegas have to deal with their heats naturally, either by finding a willing partner or riding it out alone. It's not unusual for an entire base to spend a tense few days dealing with such a thing, though there have never been any really bad reactions as far as Wes is aware of. They all know what they're doing; they can control themselves.

And that is what has Wes fidgeting alone in his room tonight. There's an omega in heat somewhere in the catacombs of the ship where Red Squadron is currently based, and the smell is making him antsy and, yes, horny. He's spending a moment figuring out whether to go find someone to help him take care of that little problem or just do it himself when there's a hesitant knock at his door.

Wes does his best to make himself presentable – which isn't much with the steadily growing erection he's sporting – opens the door, and is smacked by a wall of omega pheromones so strong he can't see through them for a moment. Then he blinks and of all people it's Wedge who swims into focus standing there, a scratchy blue Rebellion-issued blanket around his shoulders that does nothing at all to block his scent. His brown eyes are blown wide, his face flushed, and sweat sticks his hair to his temples.

“It's you,” Wes says dumbly.

He hadn't thought it was possible, but Wedge's flush deepens. “It's me,” he admits, voice hoarse, and it makes a shiver go through Wes. “Can I-?” Wedge gestures vaguely, one arm poking out from his blanket cloak.

“Oh, come in, come in.” Wes steps aside and closes the door behind his friend. “What can I...?” Usually this sort of visit would mean only one thing, but considering it's Wedge, Wes isn't so sure. Maybe he just wants...moral support?

“Thanks.” Wedge licks his lips again and shivers, looking everywhere but at Wes. Then he finally does look at him, and Wes hardly knows what to think when his friend and squadronmate's eyes land on his cock, straining at the confines of his baggy sleep pants now.

Wes suddenly wishes he had his own blanket to hide under. “What can I, um, do for you, Wedge?” he asks.

Wedge groans. “I can't do this,” he mutters, eyes skittering away. “I can't-” He growls in frustration, and there's a bit of a whine behind it that is definitely doing things to Wes. “I need help.”

“Yeah?” The response is breathless, almost disbelieving. Really, if that is what his friend wants, Wes will have no problem giving it to him. No problem at all.

“Yeah.” Wedge looks up at him again, all hesitation, as if he doesn't know what to do. He's always been one of the quiet ones, but it's strange to see him this shy. “Wes – please.”

A grin begins to grow on Wes's face, and he takes a step forward that has Wedge shuddering but not stepping back. Wes lays a firm hand on his shoulder and has to bite back a sound of pleasure at the way Wedge's dark lashes flutter as he sways into the alpha's touch. “Talk to me, Wedge,” he says. “Before we do anything, I gotta know exactly what you want.”

Wedge's gaze falls to the floor again, his eyes closing for a long moment as if he's gathering himself. “I want you to fuck me,” he says softly. “Knot me. Just-” He waves his hand. “Make this go away. I thought you wouldn't mind.”

“Wouldn't mind?” Wes actually laughs at that. “No, I don't _mind_ getting to have sex with my hot friend to help him through a hard time.”

Wedge blushes riotously at that and takes a bold step toward him. “Please-”

But Wes holds him back, just for another moment. “No bond?” he clarifies, as if he needs to. Like a one-time helping-a-friend situation even constitutes a discussion of whether they're joining their lives and minds permanently here. “And no mating? Are you taking contraceptives?”

“I'll get an emergency pill in the morning,” Wedge murmurs. “I didn't exactly plan this.”

“Are you sure?”

Wedge nods, pressing a tiny bit closer, and something in Wes's gut lurches because he would never be acting this way normally.

“All right then.” Wes smiles and lays a hand on his friend's neck, letting the expression widen into a grin when Wedge shudders into the touch, skin hot and clammy under Wes's touch. “Let's get you taken care of.” He uses his grip to pull Wedge closer, wrapping his other arm around the omega's blanketed form and pulling him in for a kiss.

Wedge makes a surprised little noise against him as if somehow part of him hadn't realized this was what they were working up to, but then he's eager, lips working against Wes's, hand emerging from the blanket to clutch Wes's shirt. Wes deepens the kiss, licking into Wedge's mouth, and is gratified when he lets him, groaning loudly.

After several long, indulgent moments, Wes pulls back, his hands on Wedge's blanket. “Let's get this off you, hmm?” Wedge hesitates, biting his lip, and Wes laughs softly. “Kind of necessary for what we're going to do.”

Wedge drops his arms to let him, and Wes whisks off the blanket and tosses it into a chair, breathing in another strong wave of Wedge's scent now that even that weak barrier is gone. Beneath, he's wearing the same soft sleep clothes as Wes, already soaked with sweat at the neck and armpits and wet between his legs..

“Gods, you waited long enough, didn't you?” Wes murmurs, telegraphing his movements as he goes, reaching around him to drag gentle fingers across his eager hole beneath the damp cloth.

Wedge whimpers plaintively, looking thoroughly embarrassed by it. “Don't tease me,” he manages.

“Me, tease?” Wes chuckles. But not now, not when his friend clearly needs this so badly. “Clothes off, darling,” he says with a wink and doesn't hesitate to start pulling at his own.

He's already completely undressed by the time Wedge has removed his shirt, shoes, and socks and is hemming and hawing over his pants. “Need some help there?” Wes asks, and when Wedge doesn't protest, he slips his own thumbs under his waistband and pulls pants and underwear down together, letting Wedge step out of them before he rises again to enjoy the view.

Wedge is gorgeous, and Wes has half a thought to lament that he hasn't seen him like this sooner. His cock, smaller than Wes’s but longer than the average omega, stands begging for attention as the slick on his thighs catches the light deliciously. Wes grins in appreciation. “You've been holding out on me.”

Wedge ducks his head from where he'd been staring in return, mumbling something Wes doesn't catch but can guess well enough. “Come here, you.” Wes pulls him into his arms again, sealing their lips together as one hand goes to Wedge's cock, showering him with long, easy strokes that quickly have him pressing in for more.

“Please,” Wedge gasps against his lips. “I need-”

“I know what you need.” Wes's voice has gone husky as his mind moves on to the main event. He steps back, lets his hands fall away so his friend can focus. “How do you want to do this, Wedge?”

Wedge is breathing hard now, air whistling in and out of his throat as his tries to form a reply. “I...”

“You _have_ done this before?” It suddenly strikes Wes that he may be about to deflower him, and the thought comes with an unexpected frisson of terror.

“I'm not a virgin!” Wedge grumps, and he sounds so much like his usual self that Wes has to laugh.

“Of course not. Not with that pretty face,” he teases. “But during your heat, though?” he adds more seriously, and Wedge nods. Wes pushes back the curious _who?_ his mind whispers. “Okay, good. What worked for you then?”

Wedge chews the inside of his cheek for a long moment before replying. “I was on my hands and knees. I liked that. It was- it felt good.” He clamps his mouth shut.

“Okay.” Wes claps his hands together. “Hands and knees on the bed then.” He gestures, and when Wedge hesitates, gives him a smile. “Go on, don't be shy. The sooner you get over there, the sooner I'm inside you, and the sooner we have you taken care of.” He grins lasciviously.

Wedge flushes but scurries to obey, and Wes isn't quite prepared for the sight he makes as he positions himself on the bed, open and dripping, just waiting for Wes to fill him as his beautiful little cock hangs between his legs. Pretty as a picture.

“Look at you,” Wes breathes with a grin as he climbs onto the bed behind him, hands framing Wedge's hips, appreciating the little tremor that goes through him at the touch. “Never thought I'd see you like this.”

“Please,” Wedge gasps, pressing backwards into his touch. “Wes – I need it.”

“I've got you,” Wes promises. Fingers trail across Wedge's hip, the firm, smooth skin of his ass, pinching lightly as he goes, causing more tremors, then, oh yes, to his core, three fingers slipping inside without any resistance. Wes groans at the sensation, Wedge wet and hot around him, clenching down desperately.

“More, I'm ready, please-”

“I've got you,” Wes says again, and, assured Wedge's body is ready for him, he slides his fingers out, shushing the desperate keen his friend gives at their loss, and positions himself flush against Wedge, spread over him chest to back. “You sure you're ready?” he murmurs, a last confirmation, and when Wedge whines loudly and drops his head, he presses in.

Wedge's breath leaves him in a sharp moan, and Wes has to squeeze his eyes shut as he lets him adjust. It's been some time since he was with an omega in heat, and it's easy to forget how intense it is in the moment. He finally begins to move, easy thrusts in and out, and when he sees Wedge's hands bunching desperately in the bedclothes, speeding up, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

“Yeah, 's good, so good,” Wedge sobs, and Wes is pretty sure he has no idea the words falling from his mouth in his pleasure. “Wes – c'mon-”

“Wedge, listen,” Wes gasps, even as his own touch stutters. “Let me turn you over, hmm? I'll make it good, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Wedge slurs, shivering against him. “Okay. I trust you.”

It should mean more, but in the moment Wes can only grin as he pulls out and manhandles Wedge onto his back before thrusting back inside. In this position, Wedge can wrap his legs tight around him and Wes can lean over him and thrust deeper as he gets a hand on his cock as well. “Good?” he pants, using everything he has to make it so.

Wedge can barely respond, whimpering and whining as he tosses his head against the pillow. Wes manages to catch his lips, drag him in for a kiss that starts gentle then quickly goes deep and dirty. Then a tiny adjustment has him hitting Wedge's prostate, and Wedge jerks away to cry out. Wes isn't bothered, just moves to his neck, licking and sucking and enjoying the way his friend's body shudders around him, telling him he's doing his job well.

“I'm – I'm close,” Wedge gasps, clutching at him, and Wes speeds his strokes, times them with deep, hard, precision thrusts to bring him over the edge, knows he's succeeded when Wedge lets out a strangled sob, going absolutely rigid against him for a moment before virtually melting back into the sheets.

Wes allows himself a smile as he watches contentment roll across his friend, his flushed face smooth with release. Only for a moment, though, before he's back to attending to his own needs. The fire in his belly scalds as he snaps his hips into Wedge, chasing his own release. So close, so close – _there!_

He presses his face closer to Wedge's neck, bites down hard as he pumps his seed into the other man, alpha instincts singing as his knot swells to keep it there.

And then, dimly, shouting.

“Wes! Wes, _no_ -”

Still riding on a sea of pleasure and endorphins, it takes him a moment to realize that Wedge is struggling beneath him.

And then the explosion: it's like a thermal detonator goes off in Wes's brain, all light and feeling, and it's _too much_ as he's flooded with overwhelming feeling and sensation he doesn't understand. He feels his heart freeze as he realizes what's happened. That that feeling is his mind connecting to Wedge's, a million intangible threads connecting their brainwaves. That bite, the one he hadn't meant to make...

It was mating bite.

“Get off me!” Wedge's voice shakes as he pushes at Wes, and Wes scrambles to obey, pulls himself back as much as he can with his knot still tying them, rocking back on his haunches between Wedge's legs. His friend stares up at him, eyes wide and wet and shocked, face torn open, and Wes can _feel_ as well as see what he's thinking.

There's shock there, yes, but fear and disgust as well. _Violation_ , his mind cries. What has Wes _done?_

“You said you wouldn't – I didn't want – _this!_ ” Wedge fumbles for words as he suddenly tries to cover himself with his hands, hide his body in a way he can no longer can his mind.

Wes himself can barely breathe as he tries to focus, to figure out what he's done, how to make this right. _You can't_ , he thinks numbly, because of course he can't. A chill runs through him at the thought. A bond is permanent. There's nothing to be done for it. Even if one of them dies, which is not unlikely, the other won't be able to bond again.

“Wedge,” he manages, his own voice hollow. “I didn't mean to. I'm sorry – I-”

“You didn't _mean_ to?” Wedge demands, and Wes feels his anger like heat across the back of his head. “Fuck, Wes!” He has no words, but Wes senses everything he means to say through the bond. Not words, but swirling, dark feelings. The same things Wes himself feels, though without the crushing guilt.

“I'm sorry,” Wes mutters again, averting his eyes. The words are so inadequate. His entire body burns with shame. Even with all the battles he's come through, all the life or death situations, he's never wanted to be somewhere else more intensely. And yet there's the inexplicable union of their bodies that won't yield until the time is right.

“ _Kriff_ ,” Wedge whimpers, the bond shifting, and oh, gods, there are tears on his face now, devastation and loss in his mind, and Wes knows what he's thinking. He's watching any future he may have had of someday bonding with someone he loves dissolve. Wes is under no illusions: he knows Wedge didn't come here tonight because he loves him. He came here before Wes isn't shy about sex and is presently unattached. That happy ending isn't meant to be theirs.

Wes risks a look back, and there are tears on Wedge's face. He feels the unmistakable urge to wipe them away or lay a hand on him, _something_ to comfort his omega, and fuck, that's what Wedge is now, forever. _His_ , even if the Rebels in general and Wes in particular don't look at omega ownership the way some cultures do. This is the person he's supposed to love and protect before anything else, and he's failed before he's even begun.

Wes squeezes his eyes closed, wills his knot to ease. He needs to be alone. He needs to figure this out, he needs to _think_ , and he can't do that with Wedge falling apart under him, falling apart because of _Wes's_ stupid mistake.

Then, finally, it's over, and Wes feels his body slacken and fall from Wedge, and in an instant his friend (if they can still be called that) is jerking away, throwing himself from the bed and retrieving his clothes, struggling to put them back on right with how badly he's shaking. Wes can only watch, beating down the intense urge to help, knowing how much he can't touch Wedge right now. Finally, Wedge manages to make himself look halfway decent, hides himself beneath the blanket again, and lurches for the door.

“Wedge!”

He turns back, and the expression on his face coupled with the feelings pulsing through the bond stops Wes cold. Angry. Betrayed. Broken. He's never seen an expression say so much at once. Words fail him.

Wedge turns away again and is gone.

Wes lets himself fall apart then, stripping the bed of its dirty covers with far more force than is necessary, biting out curses as he tosses them in a hamper and kicks aside his discarded clothes when he nearly trips on them. He follows them across the floor, realizing too late that it's easier to just use the shirt to wipe the sweat from his skin. The thought of going down to the communal showers, risking running into someone who might ask why he's so upset, is unbearable. He makes the bed again, trying to burn off some of his mood and energy by jerking the sheets taught in a way that would make his old Imperial Academy drillmasters proud.

When the room is made up again, like Wedge was never even there, there's nothing else to do. Wes shrugs into a clean set of pajamas and sinks down onto the edge of his bed, letting his head drop into his hands. Nothing has changed, of course. Wedge is still there in the back of his mind, like he will be forever, the bond full of a strange numbness now more than anything else. _Shock_ , Wes's brain supplies. He supposes he's feeling that, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Wes doesn't sleep well. Despite trying to disconnect as best he can, he just can't block out the feeling of Wedge's mind emanating from the other side of the pilots' quarters. He wonders if it's going to be like this forever, the two of them sharing a constant background hum of resentment, guilt, and regret until one of them dies. Not that he wants to consider what it'll feel like for the remaining one of them if that happens.

But surely it won't be. Now it's all so new, so unexpected. They'll have to get used to it eventually, right? That feeling of anger and loss will have to wear off as they get used to that fact that they'll never have what all the romantic holos are quick to shove in people's faces: a supportive, mutual, _consensual_ relationship between an alpha and omega who love each other and are happy to share everything, even their minds, so intimately.

Wes bites back a sound of distress as he realizes that's something he wants, too. Or wanted. Part of him had always thought that maybe after this war is over he would find someone...but no. There's no use dwelling on that now. Even if he and Wedge can work something out, have a real relationship with other people, they can never have that bond with anyone but each other.

It occurs to Wes that all of this distress has to be filtering back to Wedge, and he tries to tamp it down. He doesn't know how to control the bond, though, and has no idea if it's working. Finally, exhausted, he turns off the light, lays down, and, after what feels like hours of blankly staring into the dark, finally manages to fall asleep.

 

Breakfast is rough. Wes slaps his alarm off when it sounds what feels like far too early, dresses, and drags himself down to the mess hall. Luke, Tycho, and Hobbie are already at a table, and though Wes wants anything but to sit with his ever-talkative friends and have to pretend to be his normal light-hearted self, he wants even less for them to find out what happened. Not that they won't eventually, but he's definitely not ready for that, and he doubts Wedge is either.

He gets a tray and joins them, trying for enthusiasm when he answers their good mornings.

“You look tired,” Hobbie teases. “Long night?” He waggles his eyebrows, and the other two lean in eagerly.

Wes shrugs and starts to eat his food. “Maybe.”

“Really, that's it?” Luke asks, struggling to hold back a laugh. “You're not going to brag about your latest conquest?”

“Was it the supply officer?” Tycho wants to know. “The one you were flirting with the other day?”

“Her name is Essia. And I'm entitled to my secrets,” Wes says enigmatically, hoping they'll take it for teasing back, letting it lie for now with the assumption he would tell them later.

Unfortunately, it looks like they're about to press him, but then Wes's heart bangs against his chest as he sees Wedge come in. He looks like a nerf caught in landing lights as he spots them, and Wes knows he doesn't owe him anything at this point, but he hopes Wedge can keep it cool.

“You look like hell,” Tycho tells the fifth member of their group good-naturedly as he sits down.

“I feel like hell,” Wedge answers, not looking up from his food, and Wes can feel his nerves, his fear that they'll find out. He does look like hell: he's pale, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He clearly hasn't slept much either. His emotions trickle into Wes's: shame, despair. Pained, Wes tries not to focus on them.

Luke chuckles. “Maybe the two of them spent the night together.”

“Wedge and Wes?” Hobbie raises an eyebrow, looking between them.

Wedge's cheeks are burning, but it could easily be interpreted as general embarrassment at the attention. “Very funny,” he deadpans, and considering what he's feeling, Wes is impressed by the way his voice doesn't waver in the slightest. “Just not feeling well is all.”

“Bummer that,” Wes says as he digs into his food with gusto, appreciating the slim distraction. “You gonna be okay for the mission this afternoon?”

“Fine,” Wedge says. “It's just recon.”

“I ran into Narra on my way down here,” Luke says, leaning in conspiratorially. “He says if everything goes well out there, we can start to talk about Rogue Flight eventually becoming its own full squadron.” That gets the entire table talking excitedly, even Wedge and Wes, and their gratitude for the change of subject is mirrored across the bond.

 

The recon mission should be easy. It's just the five of them, the five members of Red Squadron – who perhaps know each other's flying better than any subgroup – hidden in a planet's rocky ring studiously watching their scanners as they scout out a tip on potential Imperial activity in the area: a supply convoy of some kind that might be happening by.

Wes feels as calm as he ever can while out on a mission, but Wedge is there like an itch in the back of his mind: a constant low-level thrum of anxiety. It's not unusual – hell, he probably could have known Wedge felt that way without their new bond – but having it in his own head is a distraction. He tries to shut the anxious sensation out, but it just keeps slipping back in.

 _Cool it_ , he thinks at Wedge irritably, even though he knows he won't hear the words; that's not how this works. There's a brief flash of annoyance through the bond, though, so he must have gotten the gist.

“We've got incoming,” Luke murmurs across the comm just as Wes looks down at his instruments and sees the telltale lights of a group of ships emerging from hyperspace. Wes watches silently as his astromech identifies the ships and splashes information across his display: one heavy freighter and two _Gozanti_ -class cruisers carrying a quartet of TIEs each. There's a spike in the nervous feeling from his bondmate, and he tries his best to ignore it.

They shouldn't have much to do here, just observe and report. No engagement unless the enemy spots them and strikes first, which is unlikely.

At least that's the plan before the cruisers launch their fighters. Wes curses to himself, hands clenching on his stick. They're heading this direction. They could just be scouting the area, he tells himself, in the service of protecting the bigger ships. The X-wings, powered down and hidden among the debris, shouldn't be showing up on their scanners, but the rocky ring is an obvious enough place to hide.

The TIEs aren't stopping; they'll reach visual distance within seconds. Then Luke's voice comes over the comm, unshaken: “Break cover, boys. Watch each other's backs and jump home when you're clear. We've seen enough.”

Wes is already moving before he's half finished, engines roaring as he pops up over the rock he's hidden behind, whooping as he blasts an unsuspecting TIE before the enemy pilot can even react. The nearer three are quicker on the draw, snapping off shots at the rest of the emerging X-wings before peeling away for better attack vectors. The rest of the TIEs are close behind, forming up as they swoop in, laser canons blazing. Wes ducks below their line of fire and aims torpedoes at the one to the back and to port, muttering darkly when he misses.

A quick glance to his rear shows Luke and Tycho holding their own against two of the other TIEs which have looped around for another run. Hobbie is nearly to open space already, and when his ship flashes to nothing and enters hyperspace, and Wes actually laughs. Hobbie deserves to be lucky for once.

But his mirth is cut short by a stab of panic in the back of his brain, and he whirls even as Wedge's voice rings over the comm, deceptively calm. “I've got one on me – a little help, please.”

“On it,” Wes answers, jamming the thruster forward, heart suddenly in his throat. He can feel every bit of Wedge's adrenaline, his mid-battle nerves clawing at his own mind now, mixing with his own reactions, and it make his hands tremble on the controls are he swings his ship around, quickly spotting Wedge's X-wing in the black. The trailing TIE is out of range of Wes's lasers, though it'll only take moments to catch him.

Moments that are suddenly too long as the fighter fires on Wedge's ship and Wes cries out – but it's only a glancing blow on his shields, Wedge juking away and climbing in a sharp spiral, the enemy still tight on him.

“Any time, Wes!” he shouts, anxiety spiking through the bond.

Wes shakes it off, chases after them. “I've got him,” he mutters, pushing Wedge's feelings away as hard as he can as his hand squeezes down on the trigger. Red beams stitch through the ball cockpit, exploding the thing like a balloon. Wes smiles grimly, feeling relief flood he and Wedge at the same time.

But there's no time to rest or take in Wedge's thanks as another pair of TIEs goes swooping over them, lasers battering Wes's shields and shaking him like a toy. His astromech screams, and Wes snaps at him to be quiet as he pivots the ship. Then Wedge is yelling at him to evade, but even as he jerks the stick he knows he's too late. Wes feels his ship shudder as he takes the full brunt of another blast.

Alarms start squawking madly. His shields are down, his droid silent. Wedge is yelling in his ear, and all Wes can feel is _panic_. It crawls up his throat, stealing his ability to think, tearing away his breath, making his heart pound frantically. Even as he knows it's going to get him killed, he can't seem to get it under control. More voices crackle on the comm now, and he feels his ship buffered by a nearby explosion.

Not his ship, though. Something outside – and the terror inside him only grows as he realizes there are two possibilities and whips his head to look. Counts, through wavering vision, two X-wings – no, three. He _forces_ himself to concentrate. Yes, three, they're all still there. He manages a shaky breath and moves stiff fingers across his controls, silencing alarms and assessing damage.

“-hyperdrive, Six?” comes Luke's rough voice across the comm, and it takes Wes two tries to hit the button for a reply.

“Still functional as far as I can tell.” He's distantly proud of how steady his voice sounds.

“Jump, you're clear,” Luke instructs, and he sounds unhappy. “See you back at base.”

“Boss-”

“Get clear, Janson, that's an order.”

Wes double-checks that his path is open then pulls the lever, relieved when his ship obeys, blackness bleeding into the blue streaks of hyperspace and holding steady until he comes out back at base.

 

The damage isn't as bad Wes initially thought, which is a relief. Still, he's already elbow-deep in his ship with the help of Hobbie and a couple of techs, as much for distraction as anything, by the time the rest of the squadron has returned. All three in one piece, he notes gratefully.

Luke reaches him first, face set in stone in a way the usually means trouble, a brief clasp of Wes's arm the only relief he shows before instructing, “Debriefing. Now.”

Wes and Hobbie follow wordlessly, Tycho and Wedge trailing along behind, and Wes catches his bondmate's eye without meaning too. Wedge looks...freaked out, to say the least, the expression as plain on his face as his relief at the close call is where it flows into Wes's head. For a moment, Wes has the most intense urge to comfort him, to convince him he's no worse for wear, then take him in his own arms, assure himself Wedge is unhurt in return-

He sinks teeth into his lip firmly, turns away. That's the bond talking.

They make it to the conference room, and Luke stands with his hands on his hips as the rest of them take their seats. “What happened out there?” he asks bluntly.

“The Imps were smarter than we gave them credit for,” Tycho pipes up. “They knew we'd be waiting.” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, the picture of casualness, though his eyes sweep his comrades questioningly.

“That's not what I meant.” Luke's hard gaze lands on Wes for a long, uncomfortable moment, then shifts to Wedge. “What happened out there?” he repeats.

Wes and Wedge share an uneasy look. They both know it was their bond that tripped them up. Panic and fear feeding into teach other exponentially. It could have ended so much worse.

“You were both off your game,” Luke says before either of them can respond. “And it could have gotten you killed.” For a moment, he drops the Commander voice. “You guys are my friends, and I don't know what's going on with you, but if something did happen, you can't bring it into the field like that, okay?”

Then it's back to the authoritative tone. “Wes, you were distracted. The hit wasn't that bad, and you should have been able to recover more quickly. You put yourself in unnecessary danger and your squadmates in unnecessary danger having to cover for you.”

Wes can't argue; he knows every word of it is true. He wonders if Luke would even be easier on them if he did know the full situation. It doesn't matter, though; it doesn't make the statements less true. Someone could have gotten killed.

“Wedge.” Luke turns his attention to the other man.

Wes flinches at the same time his bondmate does, not needing the bond to know he's going to take his dressing-down hard.

“You panicked,” Luke says. “I know that's not always something we can help, but we need to do our best to tamp down on that sort of thing. You're not helping anyone if you're too busy shouting to actually do any good.”

Wedge's face colors as he ducks his head in shame. “I understand.”

Luke sighs, and then his posture relaxes a bit as he looks over the four of them, a semblance of a smile finding its way onto his face. “Still, we all managed to make it back today, and with the info we were after, so that's what counts.”

 

Normally, Wes has no problem being the center of attention. Hell, he usually puts himself there. But today is different. After what happened with the mission, everyone is even more curious about what possibly could have gone on between he and Wedge, and the curious looks they all keep giving him are unbearable.

As soon as the briefing is over, he excuses himself to his quarters, but it's honestly not much better there. All he can do is pace, back and forth, back and forth, across the tiny space between the door and the bed. Almost without thinking, he checks in on Wedge, focusing in on the bond: the same sense of frustration he must be sending out himself.

It suddenly occurs to him to wonder if deliberately paying attention to the bond is something he shouldn't be doing. Is that an additional violation, since he knows Wedge doesn't want it? He drops into his desk chair, pressing his face into his hands with a loud groan. Kriff, he's messed up so badly. How does he _fix_ this?

A buzz at the door makes him start, and for a second he's back to the night before, the innocent, unknowing moment he had no idea Wedge was out there or what was about to happen. But he shakes it away as he mechanically rises to answer. He's sure it's not Wedge. Wedge doesn't want to see him.

He's right. When the door slides open, it's Hobbie's face he sees, creased in concern and confusion.

“What's up, Hobbs?” Wes tries for nonchalance, something he can always fall back on, and winces when he hears how hard he fails.

Hobbie's frown deepens. “I'm worried about you,” he says bluntly. “Can I come in?”

Wes sighs and stands back, waving him inside. “I'm not hurt,” he says, as if deliberately ignoring the obvious will just make it go away. “Those bastards barely even scorched my ship.”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Wes plops down on the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to think. What can he tell him? Hobbie is his closet friend here, and he really wants to tell him the truth. Maybe he can even give him some advice, not that Hobbie has ever been any better at relationships than Wes is – not that this is anything close to a _relationship_.

And then again there's the question of what Wedge wants. They haven't talked about it. It's probably safer to assume he doesn't want anyone to know. But, and perhaps Wes is being selfish here, he decides that even if it's his fault, this situation affects him, too, dammit, and he's doesn't want to hold it all in.

“I did something awful, Hobbie,” he says aloud, still not looking up.

“You gonna give me more details or do I have to guess?”

Wes gives a hollow little laugh.

“I'll guess then: it's something to do with Wedge. That's obvious. Was your inevitable one night stand really that awkward for the two of you?”

Wes's mouth drops open. _Inevitable?_ “You always were more observant than you let on,” he says, and when Hobbie snorts, he goes on. “Didn't get it all, though.”

“So tell me.”

Wes squeezes his eyes closed, trying to decide on the right words for long moments, as if delaying will make it easier. “He came here last night. He, ah, he needed help with his heat.”

Hobbie raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.

“So I helped him,” Wes says, and feels a shame he never has in talking about his sexual conquests before. “But I fucked up, Hobbie. It was just supposed to be like a casual thing, you know? A friend helping out a friend. But I...in the heat of the moment...fuck! I bonded with him, Hobbie. I wasn't supposed to, we agreed not to, but I did anyway, and now I've screwed us both over for life!”

This is clearly not anything like what Hobbie had in mind. Wes looks up to see his mouth drop open, surprise and concern in his eyes that at once makes Wes feel better and worse. At least someone else knows now. It's a relief of pressure, if only a small one.

“Shit,” Hobbie manages finally. “That does explain it.”

A noise breaks from Wes's throat, something like a hysterical laugh, then he's on his feet pacing again, unable to keep still. “That's what happened on the mission today. When I got shot up, I was as freaked as you'd expect, but I would have been fine. Then he started panicking, and it fed into mine, and, well.” He spreads his hands and then slowly clenches them. “I don't know what to do, Hobbie.”

“Gods, Wes, I don't know what to tell you either. You've talked to him, right? What did he say?”

“Barely,” Wes admits. “He...” He shakes his head as he sits back down on the bed, all energy suddenly leached out of him. “He started crying when he realized,” he says softly. “Then he just left as soon as he could. I can't believe I did this to him, Hobbie.” Wes looks up at the other man desperately, as if he can provide a way out. “I hurt him, and I can't fix it.”

Hobbie looks oddly torn for a long moment before he reaches out to squeeze his arm. “You have to talk to him, Wes. Even if there's not really anything between you...you have to talk to him. You can't just ignore it. It's going to keep eating at both of you, and I know Luke already drilled this into your head, but we can't have a repeat of today.” His grip tightens. “We can't lose one or both of you to this. You understand?”

“Yeah.” Wes wipes sudden moisture from his face. “It's just...hard.”

“I can't imagine. But this is Wedge.” Hobbie gives him a little smile. “He's hurting and feeling taken advantage of, but I'm sure part of him understands. Once he's had time to process, he'll forgive you. It won't be easy, but I have to believe you two will be okay.”

Wes sees then how nervous he is, and he understands too. Rogue Flight is a tight-knit group. They're all so close, and if he and Wedge can't find a way around this, that all might fall apart. It would be devastating for everyone.

“We'll do our best,” Wes promises. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me.” Hobbie darts forward for a sudden hug, and Wes accepts it, wrapping his arms around his friend in turn. When he pulls back, Hobbie adds, “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

“I do. And...I don't need to tell you not to tell anyone about this? Or that I told you?”

Hobbie just gives him a look, and then he's walking out the door.

As soon as he's gone, Wes tries to come up with a plan. Talk to Wedge. Such a simple concept on the surface. Twenty-four hours ago, it would've been the easiest thing in the world. Now...

He moves to the desk, fingers tapping nervously at the edge of his datapad, though he knows this conversation has to be held in person. How to approach it, though? Is it inappropriate to ask Wedge to come here? Are the memories still too fresh? Will it give Wes an unfair power over him? But it doesn't feel right to approach Wedge's room either. He's surely getting enough interference from Wes in his head; he doesn't need him in his personal space as well.

He finally decides on a course of action and clicks the datapad on, typing out a simple message to his unwilling bondmate: _We need to talk._

It doesn't take long at all for Wedge to answer.

_I'm in my room._

Wes leaves immediately, before his nerves can hold him back, before he can do anything to convince himself otherwise.

 

Wedge lets him in immediately and then steps back to the other side of the room as if he can't bear the thought of Wes being near him. His arms fold in front of himself defensively as he frowns. His mind is a swirl of apprehension and bitterness.

Wes spreads his hands, makes himself speak first. He owes him that. “Saying I'm sorry isn't going to fix anything. But I need you to know that I am.”

Wedge nods stiffly.

Wes chews his lip, trying to make useful words come, anything that might make this better. “I made a huge mistake. I thought I could control myself. I didn't think it would be a problem. I was wrong.”

There's a frisson of emotion through the bond as Wedge's face twists. “I trusted you, Wes. I put – every part of myself in your hands.” His voice cracks, and he clamps his mouth shut again.

“I know.” Wes knows Wedge can feel how awful he feels, wonders if it's doing anything to make him understand how much Wes regrets what happened. “I would take it back in a second if I could.”

“But you can't.”

“I know!” Emotion boils over, just for a second, and Wedge winces. Wes curses inwardly, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Causing Wedge more pain is the last thing he wants. “I'm _sorry_ , okay?” he repeats as if it means anything more the second time around. “I kriffed everything up for you, and it's something I can never fix. That kills me.”

Wedge's expression twitches, the swirling, dark emotions in the bond easing slightly. “That still doesn't fix things.”

“I'll do right by you,” Wes says, because it's all he can offer. “We're bonded now, whether we like it or not, and that means I have responsibilities. I won't leave you hanging.”

Wedge snorts at that, his arms falling to his sides, hands balling into fists. “So, what, if I asked you to stay with me, act like a real alpha who actually cares, you would?”

The words sting like they're meant to, and Wes glares back at him. “Yeah, I would. I did this, right? I owe you. And you _are_ my friend, Wedge, regardless of all this.”

Wedge deflates again at the answer, sagging against the wall. “I wouldn't ask you to do that,” he says, and he sounds defeated. “If you can get any happiness from being with someone who isn't me, someone you do care about like that, you deserve it.”

Wes frowns at him but doesn't press now. “We have to figure something out. I know everyone's already said it, but we can't have a repeat of today. And we have to decide who we're going to tell. Or if we're going to tell anyone.”

Wedge winces. “I don't want to. Not yet.”

Guilt blooms in Wes's mind, his own. “I talked to Hobbie. He asked me what was going on. I trust him not to pass it around.”

Wedge freezes for a moment, but then he only nods, still with that air of defeat. “Luke came around to check on me, but I didn't say anything. I lied to my best friend.”

 _That was your choice,_ Wes thinks but doesn't say. “I'm sure you'll be ready to tell him someday. It's not like we can keep it from everyone forever.”

“Of course not,” Wedge says with a sigh. “But for now...” He steps away from the wall, arms crossed again, determined now. “We just have to deal with it. I'm hoping like hell that'll get easier once some time has passed. We should be able to deal with it better then.”

“That's what they say,” Wes agrees uneasily. As if what books and teachers and word-of-mouth say about the effects of a soulbond can ever compare to actually living it. He bites his lip, and he knows Wedge can feel the renewed conflict in him when the other man gives him a questioning look. Wes takes a breath and asks, honest and simple, “Do you hate me, Wedge?”

Wedge's mouth drops open, and Wes is surprised to feel surprise flash across the bond.

“I...”

Wes watches the man he still considers a friend bite the inside of his cheek as if in thought, and Wes's heart slams against his ribs as he waits for his next words.

“No,” Wedge finally decides, the word exhaled on the whoosh of a sigh. “Wes...I hardly know what to say about this. It's hard, and it sucks, and it can't be fixed. That's just it. But I know you didn't do it on purpose. You could never do something like that. I don't hate you.”

Wes has to squeezes his eyes closed for a moment against the rush of emotion. He perhaps didn't truly realize until this moment how terrified he had been of losing Wedge as a friend because of this. “That means a lot,” he manages, and when he looks up again, Wedge is regarding him uncertainly.

“The real question is whether we can make it work flying together,” he says, changing the subject. “Or if we have to have Command split us up. Which probably involves telling them, of course.”

“We can't do that,” Wes says too quickly, flashing back to Hobbie's fear about their group of friends. “Let them split us up, I mean. Like you said, we'll get used to it, and we'll be okay. Hell, maybe once we get attuned or whatever we can even use it to our advantage.”

Wedge's lips curve almost into a smile at that, but it falls away quickly. “So we just go on like normal then? Keep being friends and flying together and pretend it never happened?”

Wes's heart twists. “I want that more than anything.”

“Me, too.”

“Except when your heat comes again,” Wes says, and he hates to bring this up now, but it has to be part of their plan. “If you're still off suppressants or off again – I'll be here for you.”

“I don't know,” Wedge says stiffly. “I have time to figure that out.”

Wes nods. “Yeah, I just-”

“I get it.” Wedge takes a breath, and Wes feels most of his remaining tension drain away. “I think we can do this, Wes,” he says evenly. “I think we'll be okay, eventually.”

And now he does smile, just a little, and Wes does too, feels their relief flowing together. “Can I hug you?” he asks, taking a half-step forward.

But Wedge jerks back with a flat, “No.” He blanches. “I mean, I'd rather if you didn't.”

Wes stops moving immediately, heart suddenly heavy again. Casual physical affection has never been a problem between them before, between any of them. It hurts, but he understands. If he was in Wedge's place...

“Okay.” He makes himself smile again. “I'm glad we had this talk. And I am really glad you don't hate me.”

One corner of Wedge's mouth lifts, a gentle tendril of reassurance drifting into Wedge's brain. “Me, too.”


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks pass, and it does get easier. Wes and Wedge move into a strange sort of rhythm. As time goes by, they feel out the bond, learning how to control it, at least somewhat. They find they can block the incoming feelings or tamp down on their own if they concentrate. With practice, it gets easier and more effective, but it's never permanent. As soon as they let their guard down, the bond is there waiting to flood in with the feelings of their bondmate. But it's going to be that way forever, and they're both grimly determined to get used to it or ignore it the best they can.

After awhile, they're back to being almost the same old friends they were. They talk and laugh with the group, nearly as easy as ever, though they're still hesitant with each other one on one. Whenever a situation arises in which they might touch accidentally, they both jerk away, each avoiding the other's gaze and studiously refusing to talk about it.

They spend a lot of time simming, too, getting used to feeling each other during flight. It's overwhelming at first, even when the stakes are so much lower than real battle, though Wes is more than thankful it's never as bad as that first time. It will be different when they're back on a mission, they both know, but all they can do is try and prepare for it. Neither of them is willing to quit or request reassignment. Their friendship, even damaged as it is, and their friendships with the rest of the Rogues, mean too much.

Fortunately enough, once they've gotten used to it, the bond actually seems to improve the way they fly together. The wordless cues they give each other without thinking allow them to react to danger or an all-clear before words are even spoken. This provokes more than one joke from squadmates who think they've recovered from some sort of simple spat and knowing looks from Hobbie. Wes has kept him in the loop, and he seems happy to see how they're dealing with things.

Once, Wes does take Essia from Supply back to his quarters. The night is going well until things heat up, and suddenly everything grinds to halt. His instincts are screaming at him to stop, the bonded alpha in him unable to process the fact that this isn't his mate. And then there's the thought that Wedge himself will almost definitely know what's going on here. It's not like Wes can keep his attention on the subject at hand and focus enough to block the bond at once at the same time.

In the end, the woman leaves unsatisfied, Wes red-faced and apologetic. It's even worse the next morning over breakfast as Wedge deliberately avoids meeting his eyes, cheeks heating whenever Wes glances his way, secondhand embarrassment covering everything. Wes prays fervently that this side effect, too, will ease with time. Otherwise, he's going to be in for an _awfully_ long and lonely life.

For the most part, though, they ignore the bond as much as they can. Dealing with it does get easier. Wes and Wedge keep flying together. They stay friends, even if they're tentative now in a way they never were before. Life regains some semblance of normalcy.

Then everything explodes again.

 

It's gotten to the point where Wes feels only the occasional strong emotion from Wedge. They've gotten good enough at controlling it that things tend to only seep out during rare moments of intense feeling or when they're tired or stressed or otherwise distracted. But Wes is in the shower one day, just about to lather up his hair, when he's hit with a jagged stab of anxiety in the back of his head, almost as soon blocked up from the other side of the bond.

It makes him pause, arms in the air, the spray of the water utterly forgotten for long moments. Wedge is upset. The sensation still leaks through where's he's tried to stop it up and pricks Wes's nerves in response. It makes him worry, not only on the instinctual level of alpha for omega, but just for his friend. His first thought is to go find Wedge and ask what's wrong.

And yet they've made an effort not to do things like that. They're trying to give each other privacy, let these kinds of things go when they normally would have no idea how the other is feeling. As much as he doesn't like it, Wes knows he needs to keep doing that. It's something they agreed on, a courtesy Wedge shows him and one he needs to give in return. So he pushes the thoughts from his head, refuses to concentrate on the feeling, and goes back to his shower.

When he gets back his room, his datapad is blinking with a message. Wes frowns when he sees that it's from Wedge.

_I need to talk to you right away._

 

He isn't in heat again, Wes tells himself as he makes his way to Wedge's room. It's too soon for that. What else could be so serious? Is he hurt? Has he found someone else and he – what – wants Wes to meet them? No, of course not, that's foolish, and Wes would have known already. Even without their intimate connection, Wedge never could keep a secret.

Wedge is waiting for him and lets him in immediately, standing back with crossed arms, and Wes is at once reminded of the last time they met like this, the discussion they had about their future. They haven't been alone together in one another's quarters since then.

“What's up?” he asks finally, going for casual.

“I'm pregnant,” Wedge says bluntly.

Wes barely holds back a curse. Of all things, this he'd never considered. He knows it has to be his, of course. He would have known if Wedge was with anyone else. But a baby...

Wes Janson is not ready to be a father. At twenty-one years old, he's a jokester and a killer, not a nurturer. He's not parent material. And he honestly doubts Wedge is either. He may be the mature one of the group most of the time, but that doesn't mean he's ready to pack it in for parenthood. And sure, maybe they both want a family someday, but this was never close to part of the plan. The Rebellion is everything to them, flying is their life, and bringing a baby into that...

Wes's eyes go to Wedge's middle, the way he has his arms folded there as if to hide it – or protect it. And Wes asks himself why he didn't know, didn't sense it sooner. His own omega, pregnant with his child.

He has to swallow to re-wet his throat before he can manage to speak. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know.”

“If you decide to keep it, you'll have to quit flying,” Wes finds himself saying, cold logic taking over feelings and reactions he can't deal with at the moment. Even so, his gut lurches at the thought of the other choice, the alpha possession and protection usually dormant flaring up suddenly. He fiercely quashes it.

“You don't get to make that decision for me,” Wedge snaps, then bites his lip.

“Of course not. But you know Command will ground you if they find out. It's too dangerous.”

“They don't have to find out. I can have time to decide.”

“Wedge...” Wes bites his own lip, trying to think. True, it isn't his place to decide what Wedge does about this, but he did call him here. He thinks it's safe to give advice. “You could ground yourself until you decide.”

“I'd have to tell everyone. _We_ would have to tell everyone.”

“Yeah.” Wes rubs the back of his neck, letting out a long sigh. “I thought you were going to get an emergency contraceptive, you know, after.”

Wedge looks away, his face red. “I forgot. I was a little distracted.”

Wes doesn't miss the note of bitterness there, the way it seeps into the bond unbidden. “I get that,” he allows. “What's done is done. You'll have to make a decision before long.”

Wedge looks back at him suddenly, an odd expression on his face. “What would you do?”

“I said I wouldn't-”

“I'm not asking you to tell me what to do. I'm asking what _you_ would do, if it were you.”

“I can't say,” Wes says honestly. “It's not me.”

Wedge huffs out a breath but doesn't press. He drops onto the bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This isn't what I wanted.”

“Wedge, I-”

“Don't say you're sorry again,” Wedge sighs, eyes still hidden.

Wes doesn't. Instead, he ventures, “I know this has to be messing with you. Your emotions, I mean. You don't have to hide that from me. If you don't want to.”

Wedge sighs again, but he peeks through his fingers at Wes, and Wes's heart stutters at the expression on his face. His brown eyes are big and shiny, his face torn. He looks _scared_. There's a waver and a shift in the back of Wes's mind, and then Wedge's emotions are sliding in. That fear is there, yes, but also frustration, conflict, and stinging regret.

Wes doesn't blame him for any of it. He's scared himself at the prospect of being the father of a child, at the prospect of what that future could hold for him. How people would react to him having a child with Wedge when he doesn't treat him as his true omega. The thought of what that would do to Wedge. Wedge, who would have to carry the child and deal with those limitations and consequences. Wedge, who might not even want him in the child's life.

“I would help you, you know,” Wes says softly. “If you decide you want to have this baby, I'll be there. Whatever you need from me. Or if you don't want me around...I wouldn't bother you.”

Wedge looks at him with that torn expression. “Of course you would be around. If I did. Even if we're not, um, together, it's still yours, too. I wouldn't keep them from you.”

Oddly, that makes Wes feel better about the situation. He manages a weak smile. “I appreciate that.”

“Sure,” Wedge murmurs.

Wes watches Wedge look down at himself, absently, as if he's not aware he's doing it. His arms unwind from around his middle as the fingers of one hand tentatively touch his stomach. Then he drops them and looks up to catch Wes's gaze.

“Do we even want to bring a child into this?” he asks. “A galaxy at war? Two soldiers as parents? Parents who aren't even together?”

“Other people have done it. Life doesn't stop just because there's a war, and, if things go to plan, kids born now will grow up in a free galaxy.”

Wedge smiles faintly. “If things go to plan.”

Wes feels fragile hope threaded with uncertainty in the bond and makes a face at him. “You're doubting the cause now?”

“Of course not.” Wedge touches his stomach again, staring as if it will give him an answer. “But trying to raise a kid while fighting a war...” There's a spike of turbulent emotion in Wes's head. “What if one of us is killed, Wes? What if we _both_ are? Our child would be an orphan.”

In that moment, Wes hates the no-touching rule Wedge has instituted more than ever. He knows exactly how much it hurts him to think of their potential child losing his parents like he did.

“We could retire,” Wes says, even as he knows neither of them would.

Wedge huffs and shakes his head, not deigning to comment. “Are we a 'we' now?” he asks instead.

That stops Wes short, trying to figure out what the words mean. A second later, embarrassment flashes through the bond, and that has him even more confused.

“Forget it,” Wedge mumbles, turning away.

“Wedge, what are you talking about?”

Wedge stands as if he can't bear to be still any longer, more frustration and something else flowing into the bond that Wes doesn't recognize at first, something soft and wistful, quickly brushed aside.

Wedge's voice is even when he asks, “You never figured out why I came to you that night, did you? It could have been someone else, but I chose you.”

“I'm your friend,” Wes says slowly, ignoring the way his heart twists to add, “You said you trusted me.”

“It wasn't just that.”

Wedge has eased the bond mostly closed again, but there's a steady thrum of anxiety dribbling through. Wes lets it seep into him, recalling the details he'd blocked out the night he bonded with Wedge, then the conversation he'd had with Hobbie the next day. The strange looks from both of them, the way Wedge had been so _hurt_. It hits him all at once, with the force of a proton torpedo to the gut.

“Gods, Wedge,” he gasps. “You didn't – you don't –” He's lost for words.

Wedge gives him a sad little smile. “I've had a crush on you practically since the day we met, Wes. Doesn't everyone? You're funny and brave and a killer pilot... I just never thought it would end here.” He lifts his arms, taking in the room, the entire situation, and when they fall again, one rests on his stomach. “It's wild, right?”

“Wedge...”

“You don't have to say anything. I just thought it should be out there, as long as we're being honest about everything.”

“I should have known.” Wes looks at him, really looks, sees a man a little older then he is but still so young, ruffled dark hair and soft brown eyes, a man who suddenly seems so innocent despite the fact that he flies like the devil, helped take down the Death Star, is every bit as brave and accomplished as Wes.

Wedge shrugs, going for nonchalant, but Wes knows he's anything but. “I never said. It wasn't really a thing. It doesn't matter.”

“Hobbies knows, though, doesn't he? That's why he was so insistent I talk to you. He understood...” _What I didn't_ , Wes finishes silently. Understood just exactly how bad Wes had fucked this up.

“Yeah.” Wedge sighs, rubbing at his face. He looks tired suddenly.

“I wish I'd known,” Wes says quietly. “If I had, it would have been different.”

“Would it?” The words aren't accusing, only a little sad. “Anyway, it doesn't change anything. You still don't feel the same.”

“Wedge, you're my friend. I do care about you.”

“I know.” That broken smile again. “And that does mean a lot, Wes. Really.”

Wes doesn't know what else to say. The entire situation seems to have turned on its head, and he's careful to reign in his suddenly-swirling emotions as he looks at Wedge.

But the other man is turning away now, apparently done with the conversation. “I'll let you know when I've figured something out,” he says, and Wes takes it for the dismissal it is.

 

Wes lays staring up at the ceiling for what seems like hours, turning the conversation over and over in his mind. Wedge is pregnant. Wedge has – had? – feelings for him. Wedge trusted him to help with his heat because...because what? Because hoped it would make Wes realize his own feelings?

 _Does_ he have those feelings? It feels ridiculous to have to ask himself. Wedge is adorable, sure, and holds every accolade he had thrown Wes's way, all the bravery and accomplishment and even humor sometimes. Wes has never thought of him that way before, and yet... It would be easy. It would be so easy to let himself think of Wedge as more than a friend, especially now, and yet he has to be real with himself.

If he were to develop feelings for Wedge now, would they be genuine? Or would they be solely a result of the bond and his alpha instincts drawing him to the one who's already his mate?

Wes grits his teeth in frustration even as he tries to keep it tame enough that it won't bother Wedge. Is there even a point in asking himself these questions? Does he _want_ that, even if it is his own choice? Does Wedge? Certainly not, after what happened. And yet...

Wes lets himself imagine it. The two of them, years from now, after the war. Maybe he could convince Wedge to move back to Corellia or Taanab with him. Start a little farm. Raise their child in nature far away from tyranny and violence...

Wes shakes his head, dismissing the images. It isn't his decision to make.

 

The next two days drag by hideously slowly. Wedge is avoiding him, and he's doing his best to avoid Wedge in return. They haven't spoken, the confused feelings Wes sometimes glimpses through the bond don't give any indication of Wedge's progress toward a decision, and it all _sucks._

Then Wes is once again staring at the ceiling, perhaps demonstrating how unfit to parent he really is with the way he's thrown himself dramatically across the bed and has his hands stuck into his hair in exasperation as he repeats, “A _crush_ , Hobbie? You never told me.”

“It wasn't my thing to tell.” His friend's voice is infuriatingly calm.

Wes flops over onto his stomach and glares, but there's no heat behind it. “Seriously, though, how did I never notice?”

Hobbie shrugs. “Wedge may be emotionally clueless sometimes, but he can keep a secret when he wants to do.”

“News to me,” Wes mutters.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don't know.” Wedge sighs and presses his face into the blankets. He hasn't told Hobbie that Wedge is pregnant. That's Wedge's decision, if and when he wants to let that out. Hobbie just wants to know how Wes is going to act on this newfound knowledge of Wedge's feelings for him, but he's still in a misery of indecision on the matter.

“Do you want to be with him?” Hobbie asks, and the words are kind and understanding, but the question is sharp and direct.

Maybe it's what Wes needs. “I honestly have no idea,” he admits. “I mean, it's Wedge. Of course I care about him. Even before this, I did. But it's not like I'm in love with him.”

“Not now,” Hobbie says astutely. “But the fact that we're even talking like this means you haven't ruled it out.”

Wes has to admit he's right. He's thought about it, thought about it quite a bit since this piece of the puzzle came out. He isn't in love with Wedge – probably hasn't _ever_ been in love, honestly – but he thinks it could happen. He does care deeply about Wedge as a friend, and he'll readily admit to being curious about what a relationship with him might be like. If he gave it time, let nature take its course...

“I don't even know if _he's_ still interested,” Wes says, rolling over onto his back and staring at Hobbie upside down. “After what I did to him. Would you trust someone like me?”

“You guys _have_ to talk to each other,” Hobbie sighs. “You can't keep using me as your go-between.”

“You've been talking to him,” Wes realizes suddenly and flips back upright to stare at Hobbie. “What's he been saying?”

Hobbie gives him a look. “You know I'm not going to tell you that.”

Wes groans loudly, dropping his face to the bed. “I hate this,” he mutters, the words muffled.

“Everyone hates it,” Hobbie agrees, and when Wes looks up him questionably explains, “I may be the only person who knows what happened between you guys, but it's not like no one else can tell something's going on. You seemed all right for a while there, but then something else happened.”

So he Wedge hasn't told him either. “You could say that,” Wes agrees vaguely.

“It's between you two. But you've got to deal with it, whatever it is.”

“We're working on it,” Wes says, as truthful as he can.

“I hope you figure this out, for your sake, not just everyone else's,” Hobbie says, the words heartfelt. “Something's gotta give, Wes.”

“I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Wes doesn't have time to act on anything, though, because in the middle of the ship's night cycle his comlink starts screeching urgently and he's being summoned to the hanger bay. Cursing and wondering wildly what's happening – _Are they under attack? Has the Empire found them? Is this it?_ – he shimmies into his flight suit and meets the other members of Red Squadron as they sprint down the hall.

Commander Narra is waiting for them, likewise suited up, helmet under his arm. “We've received a distress call from a nearby Alliance-affiliated base,” he announces once all twelve of them have assembled. “They're being harried by a squadron of TIE fighters and bombers. We think it was a random patrol. Red Squadron is being deployed to assist.”

Wes takes in the rest of the briefing as his eyes slide over to Wedge. The mixed excitement and anxiety of a surprise mission leaks from his end of the bond, and Wes finds himself frowning as nerves bite at his own gut. As soon as Narra dismisses them to their ships, he pulls Wedge aside.

“You shouldn't go,” he says, nodding to his stomach.

Wedge's hand moves as if to touch it, then drops deliberately to his side. His face hardens. “I make my own decisions, Wes. These are our allies. They need help. It's too late to call out now; there won't be a replacement pilot available on such short notice.”

“Narra would understand.”

“ _And_ ,” Wedge bowls right over him, “I won't put the rest of you in danger by leaving you down a man. No, I'm going.”

“Antilles! Janson! Let's move!” Narra barks from across the hanger.

“Right then,” Wes says, because he can see there's no changing his mind. And Wedge is right, after all. Isn't he always? “Be safe out there.”

“May the Force be with you.”

Wes has the most insane urge to kiss him before he goes. He has no idea where it comes from and has no time to think about it, just quashes the urge viciously, remembering the no-touch rule. He's quick to smother any accompanying feels that may leak through the bond, too. Wes simply his friend a sharp nod and jogs to his own X-wing.

 

Wes could do preflight on his fighter literally in his sleep, and today is no different, though he's fully awake by the time the short hyperspace jump is nearly over and ready to kick some Imperial ass. The blue tunnel reverts to black and stars, and the squadron immediately dives toward the planet.

When the outpost comes into view, it's clear the bombers have already been hard at work. Half of the buildings are burning rubble, tiny harried figures swarming them on the ground. Wes sets his teeth as he turns attention to the sky and his scopes. At least two squadrons composed of eyeballs and dupes; the initial scouts must have called in reinforcements.

They swing into battle, the two groups meeting and blending, X-wings and TIEs interlacing in a deadly, intricate dance. Wes gets in behind one and blasts it apart easily, a grim smile on his face. Comm chatter flows past him, the usual of Red Squadron members alerting each other to danger or calling for help or thanking their squadmates for a save.

Everything is going well. TIEs explode one after the other with none of the X-wings lost. Wedge is there in the back of Wes's head as he always is in battle, a steady thrum of determination with brief flares of triumph when he makes a good shot.

And then something else. A blast of fear that has Wes instantly turning from the bomber he's tailing to desperately scan the sky for his mate's ship. It's all too easy to find, trailing dark smoke as it skims too low over a line of trees.

“I'm hit,” comes Wedge's voice in that uncomfortable tone that says he's close to panic but holding it in as best he can. “Lost thrust and stabilization. I'm going down.”

“Punch out!” Wes cries, panic in his own voice.

“Can't,” Wedge bites out, matching the tangled feelings in the bond. “Too much systems damage.”

“Wedge-”

There's no response as the ship disappears beyond the trees. A concussive sound rolls across the comm, then nothing. The bond goes absolutely blank, like nothing Wes has felt before, and for long seconds he can't breath.

“Wedge! Wedge, talk to me!”

“Rogue Six, watch yourself!” comes Tycho's voice, and Wes looks back to see a pair of TIEs have settled in while he was distracted.

“I've got you,” Luke adds as he pulls in behind them, taking one out as the other peels off. “We'll come back for him, Wes, don't worry.”

He sounds so impossibly calm, Wes can barely stand it. Wedge could be – could be – But he can't think it. He needs to concentrate if he wants to make it out of this engagement himself. He takes a deep breath, forces calm into himself, and turns back to the fight. He still has a job to do.

He forces himself not to think of Wedge as he does it, slicing through the air and blasting at one TIE after another. It should be easy. For the first time since that night, the bond is truly quiet. Not the soft fuzziness he's felt when he knows Wedge is asleep and not trying to control it, but a vast dark emptiness that sets his teeth on edge now that he's accustomed to the presence. He can't stand that he doesn't know what it means. Would he know if Wedge was gone? Perhaps he's just unconscious.

But he has no way of knowing.

The fight seems to drag on for ages. These guys are good, though Wes is sure his worry is contributing to the seemingly-slow passage of time, too.

But it does end, finally. Only a handful of TIEs remain and are making a break for it. Narra sends half of Renegade Flight after them, assigns the other half as sentry in case more trouble shows, and the Rogues are cleared to land and help with recovery efforts however they can.

By the time Wes is on the ground and vaulting out of his ship, he's ready to go and find Wedge himself. There's still no change in the bond, and he's worried sick. But then Hobbie is at his side taking his arm and pulling him along.

“They've got him,” the other pilot says breathlessly. “He's in medical. They're still working on him, but he's alive.”

Wes could cry with relief. “How bad?” he asks instead.

Hobbie shakes his head. “No one would say.”

Jittery and more desperate than ever, Wes lets Hobbie lead him through the maze of the outpost to a waiting area outside the medical bay.

“Stay here,” Hobbie says. “I have to go help the others. Let us know the second you know anything, all right?”

Wes nods mutely, accepting a quick hug before Hobbie runs off, then sinks into a chair.

This is worse. This is undoubtedly worse. It's not the first time he's waited outside a medbay – Hobbie is his closet friend, after all – but it's never been quite like this. He keeps probing the bond, hoping for _something_ , trying to figure out what that frightening blankness means. But there's nothing.

Time moves so slowly. Wes stares at the opposite wall, worries. Stares at his clenched hands, worries. Shifts uncomfortably within his sweaty flight suit, worries some more.

After a while, the rest of Red Squadron begins to filter in, their other duties finished for now. When they ask, he has to tell them he doesn't know anything, though it's at least a tiny amount of comfort that he isn't alone anymore.

Finally, Tycho, Luke, and Hobbie arrive together and sit on either side of them. “Nothing?” Hobbie asks, and when Wes shakes his head, he squeezes his hand sympathetically.

“Wedge is tough,” Tycho says, and they all ignore the tremor in his voice. “I'm sure he'll pull through.”

They wait more in restless silence. And then, suddenly, the link flares back to life, hitting Wes with fear and pain and confusion. He gasps with it, with the strange sense of relief it brings even as he hates feeling those emotions from his friend, and the other pilots look at him.

“It's okay,” Luke says again, misinterpreting. “We're all here, no matter what.”

Only Hobbie's gaze holds understanding and desperate questions.

“He's awake,” Wes whispers, and he squeezes his eyes closed as he tries to send Wedge what comfort and calm he can to fight his raging feelings. “He's back.”

Hobbie squeezes his arm again. More time passes, and Wes stands abruptly and takes to pacing across the narrow hall. If his squadmates think his worry is more than normal for one of them being injured, they don't comment. Hobbie just watches, understanding on his face.

Finally, _finally,_ the medbay door opens, and Wes's heart virtually stops as he freezes in his frantic motion. The medic who steps out pauses when she sees all of them, and then a gentle smile spreads onto her face.

“You must all be here for Commander Antilles. We've stabilized him, but he's not ready to receive visitors.”

“I'm his mate,” Wes gasps out, not caring who overhears now because surely the words will cut through any red tape. “Please let me see him.”

The medic blinks but then gestures him forward. “This way, please.”

 

Wedge is in a tiny room alone, sitting up in a bed. The first thing Wes notices is how pale he is, the way his brown eyes seem huge where they're sunken into dark circles on his face. His right arm is in a cast, and there's a bacta bandage covering one cheek. Wes can feel pain leaking through the bond, but he can also tell Wedge is trying to hide it.

“Try to keep him calm,” the medic says. “He's been through a lot.”

Then she leaves them alone, and Wes is stumbling forward and grabbing Wedge's hand before he can think better of it, because Wedge is here, he can see him, he's _alive_ , he's _okay._

Then Wedge looks up at him, and Wes's breath catches in his chest at the look in his eyes, and he remembers, and he tries to pull his hand away – but Wedge clutches and won't let it go. “Please, don't,” he whispers, and more feelings seep through the bond, ragged and aching.

“Wedge, what-?”

“I lost it,” Wedge blurts, and everything in Wes lurches as it snaps into place all at once. That pain isn't just physical. Wedge makes a wet sound, pushes out the words, “They said the stress of the crash was too much, and I- I lost it.”

“Oh, Wedge.” Wes's voice shakes.

“I wanted it,” Wedge goes on brokenly, and his hand trembles where Wes holds it. “I was thinking about it, I didn't think I did, but then I thought we could try...and now this.” The bond floods open then, pain and confusion and guilt hitting Wes like a tidal wave as Wedge begins to cry.

Wes stops trying to hold himself back, opens himself to Wedge, trying to tamp down on his own instinctive shock and grief in order to give him some comfort. He doesn't think he's doing much to help as Wedge's ragged sobs fill the room, and he wants to more than anything. His omega is in so much pain, and he's never felt anything worse in his life.

Wes takes a stop closer, lays his other hand on Wedge's shaking shoulder. “Let me hold you,” he whispers, and his friend's only response is to practically collapse against him. Wes wraps his arms around him, brings him close as he continues to cry, the bond echoing and reflecting nothing but grief and heartbreak between them. “I'm here,” Wes promises. “I'm here. I'm so sorry.”

 _I'm so glad you're safe, though,_ he thinks. _I'm so glad I still have you._ Even if he doesn't really have him, not in the way he's starting to think he might want. He leans his head against Wedge's, bringing them close in the only kind of comfort he can think of. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, because he doesn't want to take advantage or make him uncomfortable even now.

“I don't,” Wedge whispers roughly, turning his face into Wes's chest. “Not ever.”

“Wedge...” He's lost for what to say next.

“I want you,” Wedge tells him, voice shaky with tears. “I thought it was gone after what happened. I wanted it to be. But it's not. I still...I want you. Please.”

Wes's hand finds its way to his hair, cards through the strands soothingly. “You're grieving, Wedge,” he says softly. “I don't want you to say anything you don't mean.”

“I know what I want!” Wedge jerks away from him, and Wes's heart twists at the image he makes sitting there, seeming so small against the stark whiteness of the room, cheeks blotchy and streaked with tears, eyes swollen and wet but still fierce. “I haven't gotten to decide anything lately,” he says, voice trembling but insistent. “The bond wasn't my choice. This pregnancy wasn't my choice. And _this_ -” he makes a sharp motion with a shaking hand. “This wasn't my choice!”

Emotions pummel into Wes as he speaks: grief and pain and confusion and loss but there others there, too, determination and want and a flicker of hope and a kind of desperate hunger that tugs right at Wes's heart.

“I understand.” Wes reaches for him again, slowly, and when Wedge doesn't recoil, merely watches him warily, takes his hand again. “I've been thinking, too.” He sits, so carefully, on the edge of the bed and looks straight into Wedge's eyes, those lovely, sad brown eyes. “I didn't plan on any of this when you came to me that night. I had no idea how you felt about me, and I wish I had, because I would have done things differently. I might not have done any of this. I never wanted to hurt you, Wedge.”

Wedge opens his mouth, but Wes shushes him gently. “Let me finish. And now everything has happened and I can't do anything to take it back, but I can try to make it better. I can be here for you now in whatever way you want me. I've thought long and hard, too, and we could do this. I could try to love you, Wedge. I want to.” A shudder runs through him as he says the words aloud, but they feel right. “I can't promise that it has nothing to do with guilt or instinct or the bond that's already there, but I want to try, if that's what you want.”

“That's what I want,” Wedge breathes. He blinks back tears, his eyes flicking down to the bed, his flat abdomen that was never anything but. “I don't think I can do this alone.”

Wes edges closer. “You don't have to.” One hand comes up to tenderly cup the unbandaged side of Wedge's face, and it feels _so good_ to be able to touch him. “I'll be here every step of the way. Whatever you need.”

Tears slide down Wedge's face again, silent and heavy, and once again Wes eases him into his embrace, mindful of his broken arm. The bond is so full between them, bittersweet and aching with pain and hope.

 

Things aren't easy. Just because they've decided to make a go of having a real relationship doesn't make everything else go away.

First, there's the rest of the squadron, who of course heard Wes's announcement when he begged the medic to let him see Wedge. They all want to know how that happened and why they didn't know. Most of them are happy; they have no idea the details and just want to tease their friends who have gotten together. Hobbie, the dear, had pretended ignorance after Wes left, leaving it up to him and Wedge to disclose what they chose.

Wes likewise lets Wedge make that decision. He's happy leaving everyone in the dark to everything except that fact that they're a couple now. Wedge is in agreement for the most part, though he doesn't want to keep secrets from Luke and Tycho. He sits next to Wes, holding his hand as he tells them everything, prompting Wes to add his say now and then.

That part sucks, Wes can't deny it, because it's clear his friends are upset to hear what he'd done and how upset Wedge had been. It's also clear they're letting it go, though, because he's happy now, though Wes has no doubt they'll pounce on him if that changes. He wouldn't expect any less. Hobbie is vocal about that, speaking to them both separately and threatening to bury them himself if they hurt the other. Wes thinks he's probably harder on him than Wedge, which is understandable.

And it sucks for Wedge too, having all his secrets out in the open, even to a few close friends he'd chosen himself. Even though he begged them not to treat him with kid gloves, they still do. They're kind and soft-spoken and check in with him often to make sure he's okay, mentally and physically.

He's sad a lot of them time, and Wes is by his side as often as he can be. It's hard for both of them, though Wes doesn't kid himself that he feels this particular loss like Wedge does. But the idea of a whole new world opening before them only to be squashed in the next moment is hard. And of course Wedge blames himself for choosing to go on the mission and ignoring Wes's warning, as much as Wes tells him not to. Who knows how the battle might have turned out otherwise?

There's that guilt there, too. The fact that he went, the fact that he lost the baby, which means he didn't have to choose. They don't have to consider what a life of trying to raise a baby and fight a war at the same time might be like or wonder what deciding to end the pregnancy might have done to either of them. It's a relief they both feel, as painful as that is.

They're dealing, though. Through long talks and held hands and shy kisses, they come together in a way so much different than before. Wes feels his attachment to Wedge growing daily, grows to adore the twinkle in his eyes as he starts to smile more, the way his step quickens when they've been apart before he folds himself into Wes's arms.

When they fly together, they come to let themselves rely on the bond, reading and reacting to each other as much as their own senses and instruments. Wes feels more fear for Wedge now than he has for anyone he's flown with before, but he accepts it. It's worth it for everything else they share. And he knows couples have fought side by side before and done so successfully. Neither Narra nor Luke seems to have a problem with it as long as they're able to do their duty, and they're both determined to continue. The only thing worse than being in danger together would be being in danger while apart.

Shortly after the raid on the outpost, their own medical bay comes back into a supply of suppressants, and Wedge starts receiving his dose again, putting at least that issue out of their minds for now. The two of them are taking things slow; they haven't been intimate again yet, and Wes doesn't know when they will be. He doesn't much care either, if he's being honest. That isn't what this thing between them is about. It will probably be something they need to take their time working up to, to talk about long and hard and make sure they're both comfortable. He finds he's more than okay with that.

And then there's _Wedge_. Every day Wes is finding out things about him he never knew. That for all they tease Luke, Wedge used to be a farmboy too. That he wants to be an architect when the war is over and help rebuild what's been lost. That, now he's really thought about it, he does want a home and family one day when this is all over.

Wes learns other secrets, too: the way he melts into his bunk after a particularly exhausting day, the exact feel of his mind when he's anxious over an upcoming mission, the way his cheeks go pink when Wes tells him how pretty he is.

And he knows Wedge is learning these little things about him, too. None of it makes him as nervous as he might once have thought it would. He likes this so much, likes how close they're growing, how none of it is a joke. He doesn't stop joking, but he _never_ makes it about them. He doesn't want Wedge to doubt for even a second that any of this is true and real and meaningful to him.

 

It's the day after another successful mission. No one was lost, no one was hurt, and they're all riding high. Some of their fighters were a bit banged up, though, and they're low on techs, so Wes is helping Wedge give his a once-over.

Wedge is perched atop one of the ship's S-foils while Wes lays under the fuselage tinkering with a bit of wiring. Wes thinks he's nearly finished his bit when there's a curse from above followed by the sound of metal pinging off ferrocrete.

Wes rolls out from under the X-wing and sees the hydrospanner on the ground. Then his eyes travel up to see Wedge's head peeking over the wing, hanging upside down, brown hair falling wildly over a face that's reddening quickly as blood rushes to it.

“Do you think you could hand me that?” he asks, and Wes is about to say something teasing when he notices the streak of grease across Wedge's cheek he's either unaware of himself or simply hasn't bothered with, and it hits Wes all at once. _Oh_.

Wedge must sense something through the bond or see it on his face, because he tilts his head – which looks ridiculous when he's still upside down – and asks, “What?”

The words flow from Wes's mouth as naturally as anything: “I think I'm in love with you.”

Wedge's smile then is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.


	5. Epilogue

“Why did the stormtroopers start jumping up and down?”

“Why?”

“Because they were standing on the Ant-hillies.”

It's a lame joke, but Wedge laughs anyway, and Wes has always liked making him laugh. It's even better now, now that he can feel that bright flare of amusement in his own head and kiss the smile on Wedge's lips.

“And this is our resident disgusting couple,” Hobbie deadpans.

Wes disengages himself to look up at the two new pilots Hobbie is leading around the rec room and introducing to the rest of the squadron. For once, the newbies are replacing Red Squadron pilots who have transferred elsewhere rather than making up for losses.

“Wes Janson,” Wes introduces himself, reaching up to shake the hand of first the Togruta man and then the Aqualish woman in front of him. “Nice to meet ya.”

They smile at him shyly and introduce themselves, and then it's Wedge's turn.

The Aqualish's eyes go wide the moment Wedge says his name, and her hand freezes on his. “ _The_ Wedge Antilles?” she breathes. “From the Death Star?”

Wedge's cheeks color slightly as he nods.

“The one and only!” Wes puts in, throwing his arm around his mate.

“It wasn't-”

“-just you. Yes, yes, we know,” Wes tells him, kissing his cheek in a tried-and-tested form of distraction. “He's modest,” he tells the newcomers conspiratorially.

Wedge just makes a face.

“Kids, let's leave the nice man alone,” Hobbie says, and ushers them off to the next group.

“You're ridiculous,” Wedge mutters darkly when they're alone again. His cheeks are still that delightful shade of pink, and Wes kisses him again.

“You still love me.”

“I really do, you know.”

Wes grins. He thinks maybe someday he'll stop feeling that little thrill every time Wedge says the words or just even alludes to them like this. Then again, maybe he won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"We have all hurt someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. We have all loved someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. It is an intrinsic human trait, and a deep responsibility, I think, to be an organ and a blade. But, learning to forgive ourselves and others because we have not chosen wisely is what makes us most human. We make horrible mistakes. It's how we learn. We breathe love. And it is inevitable." ~Nayyirah Waheed_


End file.
